


Rußfleck

by Bioluminescent



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Canon-Typical Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 09:14:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17301902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bioluminescent/pseuds/Bioluminescent
Summary: When your son is born, you laugh and run a gentle finger along one of his ears. As he gurgles happily, being cradled by his mother in the softest blanket you own, you smile and say, “He definitely got your father’s ears.”A look at Caleb's life from the point of view of his father.





	Rußfleck

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for episode 18
> 
> I didn't expect to write this at all, but here it is.

When your son is born, you laugh and run a gentle finger along one of his ears. As he gurgles happily, being cradled by his mother in the softest blanket you own, you smile and say, “He definitely got your father’s ears.”

He never really grows into them. The number of times his mother has to wipe something off behind them is too large to count. But he always smiles when you tweak an ear and ruffle his hair. Not long after his sixth birthday, he performs magic for the first time.

As he shrieks with joy at the four globes of light he sends whizzing around the kitchen, you hold your wife close, warm inside and nearly bursting with pride.

It’s not soon after that the dirt behind his ear that never seems to go away, turns into a speck of soot.

He and the other two magical children in Blumenthal join up, and are often seen running through the town, laughing and shoving each other in good cheer. You hear the whisper of a rumor that they are the ones who told Gunter to back off from bullying Walter, the youngest of one of the poorer families in town. As you think about it, you realize that those three have seemed to take up a leadership position for the rest of the children in town. You are proud again of your son, and when he comes home that night, cheeks red with the winter-chilled air, you ruffle his hair and tuck him close to your side as he tells you of the new spell he and his friends discovered in a musty old book today.

The day of his twelfth birthday is when the Assessors from the Soltryce Academy come, to look at the talent your son and the other two children have.

Every family in the town wait with bated breath as the well dressed Assessor waves the three of them off to the outskirts of town, in a clearing of dirt and not much else. Worry gnaws in your stomach at the thought of any of them getting hurt, least of all your son, but you are confident in his abilities.

People mutter and flinch as loud booms and bursts of light echo over the town from the clearing, and you hold your wife close, pressing a nervous kiss to her temple at the noises. She smiles up at you and pats the arm wrapped around her.

And when all of them return, the Assessor looking pleased, you rub a smudge of soot from behind his ear once more, laughing as he pushes your hand away, embarrassed in front of his friends at your love.

You will never forget the look of amazement on your son’s eyes as a letter comes through the post, official on heavy paper and a thick red seal, directly from the Soltryce Academy. You are so happy for him, and none of you stop crying tears of joy that night.

Two days later and a carriage comes to the town, ready to pick up the new students from Blumenthal. Caleb looks up at you, his bags on the back of the carriage next to his friends, and he gives you a wobbly smile as the other two students say their own goodbyes. Gently, you tuck a lock of golden red hair behind his ear and gather him close to your chest. Pressing a kiss to the crown of his head, you push him towards the carriage.

The Soltryce Academy is strict with new students, you discover, but only until they are able to control the magic running in their veins. Caleb writes to you often, excitement clear in his words of magic and paper and training. 

When Caleb visits, he brings with him his two friends, each of them dressed in clothes finer than your uniform, hair neatly washed and robes pressed. But he hugs you the same as he did as a child, and the smudge behind his ear is now a strange combination of ink and soot. He shows you his spellbook, explaining some of the runes he has transcribed painstakingly onto the thick paper, sketching out with his hands the motions to cast the spells.

And you watch, as with a quick snap of his wrist and a word that sizzles in your ears, the hearth blooms into flame. The warmth quickly fills the room, and Caleb holds his mother and she weeps into his arms, saying how proud of him she is.

That same night, he tells you both, eyes sparkling, of how the three of them have once again been chosen for advanced training, with Master Ikithon. His eyes gleam and he shines as he speaks of how good they have been doing in their studying, how well they must be learning to be chosen to train specially with Master Ikithon. He leaves the morning after in a small carriage with the others, and you catch a glimpse of dark blue robes and long grey hair before the door closes and the carriage moves off with a click of the tongue and a snap of the reins.

The years pass.

Each time Caleb sends the money he earns from his learning, the amount grows.

They have been doing so well with Master Ikithon, his letters say, that Master Ikithon has begun to bring them into the field. He cannot visit anytime soon, because they are going to be travelling for the Academy for some time across the Empire, but he will send what funds he can. You smile wistfully.

Another year passes and the small border skirmishes have been fewer in frequency, enough so that Blumenthal is skeptical of the naysayers claiming of a war.

Toward the end of year celebrations, you receive a letter, a note really, written in the same hand every time, that your son has been give leave to spend a week with his family for the holiday celebrations. Two days later Caleb arrives, and you falter at the sight of cool indifference on his face as he waves Astrid and Eodwulf to their own families.

But as soon as he sees you, a smile breaks through the mask on his face and you recognize your son.

The week passes by well, with only a hint of disturbance when Caleb begins to distance himself three days before he leaves. You whisper with your wife when he is asleep of what the cause could possibly be. She notes that perhaps he got into a fight with Astrid or Eodwulf? Neither of them have been over to visit like usual, and you nod your agreement.

Everything is well when you say your goodbyes to Caleb.

Life goes on as he studies more, his letters telling of his increase in rank, of his nearing graduation by the time spring comes. And to your pleasure and surprise, he agrees to a celebratory dinner for his graduation, as apparently Master Ikithon has given them a few days leave for this.

It is good to see the three of them as you have dinner together. Astrid and Eodwulf tease and prod at Caleb, and you can tell he is happy in their company.

Nothing seems wrong until you wake up in the middle of the night to the smell of fire smoke in the house.

The door is barricaded when you slam against it, and your wife is screaming as the flames reach and curl around her body. Pain burns along your back as a beam falls from the ceiling with a snap, and the last thing you know is your screams filling your ears as fire caresses you in a stranglehold, smoke filling your lungs before everything goes black.

Little do you know, that outside your burning home, your son stares with tears in his eyes, Astrid and Eodwulf standing at his shoulders as he drops to his knees, hands coming up to cover his ears to your screams.

***

Caleb tucks himself deeper into his ratty coat, Frumpkin purring loudly from his perch on his shoulders.

The rest of the Nein bicker as they rifle through the various piles of junk in the cavern, Fjord turning over one of the bodies of the bugbear guards, Beauregard and Mollymauk chortling over the corpse of the hobgoblin leader. All the weapons from this adventure have been either carried out to the cart or jammed into Jester’s haversack.

Sighing, Caleb reaches up to rub his thumb against the thin fur on Frumpkin’s forehead, satisfaction and a hint of worry coming from his familiar through their link.

He ignores the silent question, instead turning back to watching the rest of the group as Yasha and Caduceus return from checking on the cart, Nott staying with the horses for the moment. Caduceus glances over, making as if to move closer to him, but whatever Yasha mutters to him distracts him long enough for Jester to come bouncing over.

“Caleb!” 

Even though he tries, he cannot keep the small smile off his face as Jester comes to a stop in front of him, her hands clasped under her chin as she beams at him.

“It’s our turn to go keep Nott company!”

And before he can even protest, Jester has her hand on his elbow and is leading him out of the cavern. He misses the look of concern Fjord gives him when they leave.

Nott watches them approach from her perch on the cart, munching away on a rat she had caught earlier in the tunnels below. Caleb feels some of the tension around his shoulders relax a little at the sight of his friend safe, albeit bruised. When he had watched her get flung across the cavern to hit the wall with a sickening crunch, the fire that was always in his veins had sizzled to life with a roar, and the hobgoblins and bugbears had died in a burst of fire.

The slightly singed complaints of Beauregard, he never heard, as he was immersed in memories of another time, and another family dead.

He shakes himself out of that as Jester pats his cheek, wiping away the tears with his hand as he looks down at her. She frowns at him and pulls him to sit on the back of the cart with her.

Laughter floats up the tunnels, and Caleb pulls the scarf from his neck and drapes it around Jester.

“Oh, thank you Caleb!” She hums happily, patting his shoulder and adjusting the scarf so it sits comfortably around her neck.

They wait in silence for the others to be done, and at some point Nott comes to join them on the back of the cart, a smear of blood at the edge of her mouth. She tucks herself under one of his arms, patting Frumpkin as she goes, and Caleb leans against her, content with the way blunted claws clutch at his coat.

He is pushed out of his thoughts of the beds waiting for them in the nearby town when a thumb aggressively rubs behind one of his ears, and he turns to see Jester scowling at his head.

“How did you even get soot behind your ear, Caleb?” He shrugs as she licks her finger and goes back to conquering the smudge, her other hand threading through his hair to hold him still.

Leaning against his goblin friend and the blue tiefling grumbling under her breath next to him, the persistent burning under his skin calms, and Caleb sighs in relief.


End file.
